


Endless Potential

by Sincestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, No Underage Sex, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, Wincest Love Week, at best someone loses or settles, but i can't imagine even i continue that it will have a happy ending, i don't know if this is the end or not, slight mentions of underage sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 14:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7849414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincestiel/pseuds/Sincestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If I… Would you stay if you could have what you want?"  Dean's voice – unsteady, scared, wavering – stops Sam in his tracks, several t-shirts hang limply from his hand as he stares unblinkingly at the wall, not daring to turn and look at Dean.  Terrified to see him unsure.  Dean's always sure of himself.  Always.  And right now he doesn't sound that way at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endless Potential

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another file from my hard drive. Mostly finished I suppose. It probably ends here anyway. Title from this quote: "... an unrequited love is so much better than a real one. I mean, it's perfect... As long as something is never even started, you never have to worry about it ending. It has endless potential." - Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

If asked when he fell in love with his brother, Sam wouldn't have an answer. He doesn't think falling in love is something that happens suddenly. The realization? Sure, maybe. But the act of falling in love is a process that can't be narrowed down to one moment in time. It's a series of moments. Perfection and heartache and a whole range of emotions that differ as much as night and day. It isn't just happiness and smiles. There's pain and tears and blood. Or at least that's how it was for him.

He thinks it started when he was ten. But it's possible he's wrong about that because in all honesty, he can't remember a time when Dean wasn't everything to him. So maybe it all really started with a fire and protective arms carrying him to safety. Or maybe even before that, with a child's voice bleeding through to the womb. He's not absolutely sure. But he does know that he was ten the first time he caught Dean with a girl and wished it could be him.

Not like _that_ , of course. He was too young to pay much attention to the hand Dean had up her shirt. But just the way Dean was with her. Soft and sweet. Gentle like she might break. And Dean wasn't exactly rough with him, but there was something different about the way he handled her. Something Sam couldn't quite figure out but desperately wanted anyway. Maybe it was the kisses. Dean didn't kiss _him_ like that.

By the time he was twelve he found himself wishing he was a girl. Maybe if he had the right parts Dean would want him like he wanted all the girls he took behind the various schools they attended yearly. Maybe Dean would touch him like that. Kiss him. Whisper whatever lies he told them but for Sam, for _Sammy_ , there would be nothing but truth.

And he was fourteen before he understood. It wouldn't matter what kind of body he had. He could have the best set of tits Dean had ever seen, curves in all the right places, ruby red lips, legs for days… None of it would matter because for all the grey area they lived in daily, this was black and white. Plain and simple. Incest.

It's such a nasty word. Doesn't roll off the tongue right. Doesn't sound good when it does come out. And he remembers spending a whole hour repeating it to himself out loud. An ugly reminder of how wrong he was. How messed up. How Dean would never ever want him and he'd better get used to it.

But he never did. Through college (he had to get out, had to get away because Dean was always there with his pretty mouth and his too green eyes and those hands), searching for John (though Sam had never cared all that much if they found him; he was just always looking for a way out, away from Dean again), angels, demons, hell monsters, so many trials and tribulations… all of it and none of it was enough. Nothing could rip Dean from his heart, his mind. Nothing could free him from his sinful lust.

And he'd been ready to die. _Wanted_ to die. It was the only way to save himself. Save Dean. It was his gift. Dean's freedom, even if he didn't realize he was caged. Sam offered it up on a silver platter. But, like always, Dean clung to him. Brought him back. Refused to let Sam take the easy way out. Or any way out for that matter.

But that has to change. And soon because the urges have been getting stronger. And despite his currently rocky relationship with his older brother, Sam still wants. Maybe more than ever. And that want has only intensified and become more dangerous over the years. He wishes he could go back to simply craving Dean's tenderness. Because now he craves it all. He wants Dean's heart. Wants to be loved by him in a way Dean never could. He wants Dean's body and his soul fully. And none of it is his for the taking. Just by wanting he's marring them both.

So he packs. Let Dean think he left because he was angry about the angel cohabitation. Or pulling him back from the brink of death. Dean can think whatever he wants. Sam can't care anymore. He can't let himself.

But leaving isn't easy. It never is.

Before Sam even has all of his underwear (and he only owns a few pair) crammed into his duffle, Dean is posted in his doorway. It's like some kind of sixth sense he has. A knack for knowing when his brother is trying to bail. And the thought sends a little thrill through him. Makes him hope. Dangerous stuff. Hope. Can make a man do drastic things.

Dean watches silently as Sam continues packing. Faster now because he can feel Dean's gaze on him. And not a normal look like he might send Sam from across the front seat of the Impala. But intense. Scrutinizing. Turning something over in his mind, tumbling and polishing a new promise he can make. Something, anything, that might keep Sam right where he is.

"Just don't," Sam says, hoping to stop whatever method Dean is about to employ. And he's surprised and a bit wary when Dean doesn't respond. But he keeps packing, doesn't look at the man still filling the doorway. If he can get out before Dean starts talking. Begging, because he's not above that when it comes to Sam. If he can leave before that, he might have a chance of making a clean break this time. Everything's so screwed up right now and they've been in limbo for weeks. Maybe this time Dean won't look for him. Maybe this time-

"If I… Would you stay if you could have what you want?" Dean's voice – unsteady, scared, wavering – stops Sam in his tracks, several t-shirts hang limply from his hand as he stares unblinkingly at the wall, not daring to turn and look at Dean. Terrified to see him unsure. Dean's always sure of himself. Always. And right now he doesn't sound that way at all.

"What do you mean-"

"Cut the crap and answer me. I hoped it wouldn't come to this, but I'm at the end of my rope, man. I've got nothing left to give except this. But I will. Gladly. Whatever you want, Sammy." He's still hesitant but with every passing second that Sam doesn't put a stop to this conversation, he becomes more resolved.

"I don't know what you mean." And that's that. Sam shoves his shirts in and zips up. There's nothing else he needs. Nothing he can't get later. But Dean isn't going to let this go so easy and when Sam finally swings around, duffle in hand, Dean is right there, locking eyes with Sam and holding him captive. Just like always.

"You know exactly what I mean. And you can have it. All you gotta do is ask. I'm yours, Sammy. I've only ever been yours. You've got it all, man. All of me that's fit to give. And if you want my body too? Well that's a small price to pay to keep you."

That fucking hurts. It hurts worse than all the years of hopeless longing combined. How can he just say it like that? How can he offer something like this so… haphazardly? And treat it like it's some kind of duty. Like he owes it to Sam for some reason. Or like Sam would take sex as repayment for some unknown debt?

"No thanks. I'm not really into the martyr thing. Doesn't get me going."

Dean steps closer then, crowding into Sam's space like he owns it. And he does. He always has. The one thing Sam has sought since he was fourteen – distance from Dean – is the one thing he doesn't ever want.

"But you want me. And I'm offering."

He just looks so earnest. Like he's giving this freely. Because he wants to and nothing else. But there are so many strings attached to this that they're already getting tangled. And Sam wants no part of it. Not like this.

"If I stay. I can have you if I do what you want. And only because you feel trapped. It's rape by coercion. Maybe on both our parts. And I don't want-"

"No. You can leave if you want. After. But I want… I want to try, Sammy. This-" Dean waves an arm around as if to indicate everything that's standing between them, everything that has sunk into the cracks and crevices of their relationship over the years and slowly broken them down, "isn't working. We need to find something that does. And we both know we won't last alone. You're my greatest weakness, Sam. But you're also my greatest strength. And I'll do whatever it takes to fix us. Or change us."

Dean touches him then, softly, tenderly… _sweetly_. Just a hand on his shoulder. Just like Dean's done a thousand or more times over the years. But it feels different. And that's when Sam really fucks up. He goes with it. Thinks he can snap Dean out of this. Because if there's one thing Sam knows about Dean, it's that Dean isn't gay. One kiss is all it'll take. Sam's lips, his _brother's_ lips, on his and Dean will run for the hills. And then Sam is free. They're both free.

The duffle falls to the floor with a padded thud just a split second before Sam's arms slide around Dean's waist. A sharp intake of air – surprised, frightened even – is the only sound Dean makes before Sam's mouth is on his. And Sam goes all out. He might have liked for their first and only kiss to be slow, careful. But this is better because this – this forceful, needy melding of their lips – will be what scares Dean away.

Except it doesn't.

Dean stands firm through Sam's onslaught, his hands tangling in Sam's hair and his shirt as he holds on for dear life. And his mouth meets Sam's without hesitation. There's still fear there, under his solid bravado, but no indication that he plans to stop or push Sam away. And after a few seconds where Sam literally fights him, tries to make him pull away, he finally melts into Dean's kiss.

And Dean is kissing him back. Slowing everything down. Guiding Sam backward. Fingers digging into skin almost softly but with definite force. _I've got you, Sammy. Always got you._ Sam hears it just as loudly and clearly as he would have had Dean said it out loud. 

Sam had thought that this would be just the thing to ease his pain. Having Dean in his arms, willingly kissing him. Wanting him. And even if Dean is misguided in his reasons, he is willing. He proves that when he gently shoves Sam to the bed and quickly straddles his lap, mouth focused on Sam's neck now as his hips start a rhythmic motion meant to entice. And it is very enticing. But the perpetual ache in Sam's chest only worsens.

"I love you," Sam whispers, raw and rough, not really expecting an answer.

His breath catches and their fate is sealed when Dean replies instantly and with more conviction than Sam's ever heard, "Love you too, Sammy. So much."

Dean takes his time, easily gaining and keeping control as he slides Sam's shirt off, trapping Sam's hands in the sleeves above his head. And then he's pushing back, laying Sam out with his chest exposed and his hands tangled and effectively trapped.

Dean's hands are like fire, his fingertips tracing muscle and bone with intent and his mouth… Sam practically squeals, arches up off the bed and shudders violently when Dean finds a nipple with lips and teeth and tongue.

It's so much like Sam has imagined, dreamt about for years. But when Dean looks up his body, meets his eyes, the desperation Sam sees there doesn't speak of lust. Dean's eyes tell the story – their story – of love and devotion twisted into unhealthy codependency. He's a man just trying to hold on, willing to do literally anything to cling to Sam just a little while longer.

Sam closes his eyes. Tries to pretend.

But when Dean's big, calloused, but somehow still nimble hands find his fly, when the sound of his zipper coming down drowns out his own labored breathing, it's too much. Self-loathing overtakes him, and it's not enough to make him stop, but it's enough to force him into action.

He frees his hands before Dean can work past his underwear and he doesn't even get to feel Dean touch him – skin on skin – before he's up, changing their positions. Dean looks momentarily stunned and when Sam jerks his t-shirt off, dips his head to mouth at warm skin, a nervous whimper escapes.

"Shhh," Sam breathes against a collarbone, "Just this. Just close your eyes, Dean."

"Sammy, I've never-"

"Gotten a blowjob?"

Dean's body relaxes in slow increments when he understands that Sam isn't going to fuck him, but Sam's hand finds him disappointingly flaccid when it skims down his sweaty body to land softly over his crotch. _That's okay,_ he tells himself. He knew Dean didn't really want this. Not like Sam does anyway.

If he was a good brother, Sam would stop now. But he figures if he was a good brother he never would have let it get this far. He wouldn't have fallen in love with Dean. Or he would have left for good sooner. Something that wouldn't have landed them here. But here they are and Sam isn't strong enough to walk away. Not yet.

"Remember that waitress from Tennessee? The one with the long, black hair and the sweet little twang? Can you think about her for me, Dean?”

“Sam, I-“

Sam shushes him again, moves down and latches onto the skin above Dean’s waistband, worrying it gently with his teeth as his palm works teasingly over Dean’s groin.

“Don’t apologize,” Sam whispers against Dean’s trembling stomach, “Just close your eyes and picture someone else. Anyone. Whatever works for you.”

Sam doesn’t even look up as he pops the button on Dean’s jeans. He can’t. Doesn’t want to see the look on his brother’s face. This isn’t… it’s not what Sam wants. He’s never wanted Dean like this, a sacrificial offering. But when he gets Dean’s fly open and feels the flesh underneath beginning to respond, he knows for sure that he’s lost.

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd. All mistakes are my own.


End file.
